


Straitjacket

by Doxx



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Captivity, Forced Relationship, Kidnapping, M/M, Manipulation, Non-Consensual Bondage, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Non-Consensual Touching, One-Sided Attraction, One-Sided Relationship, Unreliable Narrator, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,263
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25034200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doxx/pseuds/Doxx
Summary: Hannibal is fascinated by Will, to the point of obsession, to the point of losing touch with reality.When Will learns who he really is, he lacks the acceptance and awe that Hannibal had been anticipating.Hannibal cannot accept that, and works to remedy the situation more to his liking.Repost of one of my old stories from 2014
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 12
Kudos: 219





	Straitjacket

**Author's Note:**

> Written in 2014 for a kinkmeme prompt;  
>  Will figures it out, or perhaps Hannibal's obsession with Will Graham just comes to a head. Either way, Hannibal kidnaps Will.
> 
> Hannibal stores him away in a nice room with a comfy bed and lots of pillows and blankets. Will gets full meals and reading material and really expensive comfortable clothes. However, he doesn't stop trying to fight Hannibal, so Hannibal has to physically restrain him whenever they are in the same room, especially since Hannibal likes to cuddle. He puts Will in a straightjacket and shackles his ankles to the foot of the bed and holds him at leisure.
> 
> Bonus if:  
> -Hannibal firmly believes that, beneath his own selfish motivations, the gentle handling will actually be good for Will's state of mind.
> 
> -Hannibal uses a mild sedative so he can bath Will and feel him up as he pleases.

In retrospect, Hannibal thought as he pressed a makeshift cold compress composed of a packet of frozen peas wrapped in a pillow case to the side of his jaw, that could have gone more smoothly.

His spilt lip stung with the chill, and the tenderness across his jawline promised to bloom into a variety of interesting colours in a few hours. His shirt, one of his favourites and worn especially for the occasion of dinner with the consultant, was torn past repair at the sleeve, and both his hair and calm demeanour was ruffled.

He had expected that when Will Graham uncovered the true identity of the Chesapeake Ripper, he would be fearful and perhaps a little awed, which would have made overpowering him and secreting him safely down in his basement den a simple matter.

Instead, Will had been furious.

He’d attacked Hannibal, with far more fervour than he’d thought the wiry man capable of, and had caught Hannibal with a particularly powerful swing of his fist. The resulting scuffle had upset plates and caused crystal glass to shatter upon the floor, and laid waste to the meal of braised cheek cooked in cinnamon and juniper spiced merlot.

Hannibal had spoken of selecting the cheek for the evening’s dinner, rather than the more unusual brain dish he’d had in mind, as he did not think he would like to test Will’s stomach with the acquired taste for pan fried lobe. He had said it was pork when asked, but Will had finally made the connection between the headless carcass he’d found the day before, when the Ripper had never yet made any attempt to hide the identities of his victims.

Truth be told, Hannibal was a little disappointed it had taken Will so long to work it out, and the amusement of toying with allegory and double meanings had long since lost its appeal. Now, he was far more interested in the man, this Empath, with his nervous eyes and scruffy appearance, hiding a most marvellous mind. He found himself, despite years of disinterest, attracted to Will. He had kept it hidden of course, his career and standing would have suffered if he had attempted to act upon his desires, not to mention the unwanted attentions it would gain from Jack Crawford, should he become involved with the man’s precious little teacup.

He’d long since prepared for Will’s revelation, and the basement bedsit had been lying in wait for months. He would finally be able to announce his feelings, and cultivate Will’s own until he was reciprocated.

Hannibal regretted that the fastest way to render Will unconscious was to have beaten his head against the oak dining table, and he had checked over and over that Will would waken without complication.

When he did rise, Hannibal very much doubted that Will would be in a frame of mind to appreciate the wide bed, the soft sheets and thick pile carpet under his feet. A dresser was supplied with fine clothes better suited to dress his captive than cheap flannel and jeans, and a wide range of literature to feed the intellect was carefully stacked in the shelves of the bookcase.

In time however, he would settle, and then come to accept the new home Hannibal had made for him.

****

Will’s voice gave out on the second day, raw from screaming, and Hannibal was very glad he’d installed the soundproofing himself. He would not have been surprised that Will’s father, or perhaps grandfather had been a sailor, at hearing profanities that had poured from his lips. He had had to mute the intercom, so upset was he at the filth that his Will was capable of uttering.

A bowl of carrot soup, laced with honey to sooth a hoarse throat, had been flung against the wall, and added to the mess of ripped books and torn clothes strewn across the floor.

He retreated, once he had gathered Will was not at all interested in conversation, and his own tempter sorely tried by the state of Will’s once beautiful living quarters, reduced to a slum by Will’s thoughtless vandalism.

This was all that pent up negative emotion, collected from the subpar minds of murders that Crawford had subjected Will to, finally finding an outlet.

Will would calm, given time. Hannibal rather hoped it would be sooner rather than later, he was anxious to hold his cherished Will, and feel the warmth of his body pressed against his. His patience, especially when it came to Will Graham, was not boundless.

***

On the fourth day, Hannibal had to admit that he had severely misjudged how Will would react to his new situation.

The room was near unrecognisable, and there was not a piece of furniture or section of wall that had not been thrashed with whatever Will had found to hand. Everything had been pulled from the bookshelves and dresser, and destroyed with single-minded rage. Thankfully, Will had had sense to leave the commode for toileting alone, Hannibal did not think he’d care to think of the mess that could have made.

Will ate very little of the meals brought to him, no matter how long Hannibal laboured in the kitchen, and Hannibal feared for his health. He was weakened by his self-imposed starvation, but that only added to his wild appearance. He was more like a rapid dog than a man, and he had not changed from the clothes he had been brought in. He had not even made use of the wash basin Hannibal had supplied, with fine scents and luxurious soaps.

The smell was particularly offensive to Hannibal.

For his own safely, something would need to be done.

On entering the double locked room, Will backed up against a wall, face contorted and snarling in anger. When Hannibal advanced, all determination and intensity, he lifted his arms up instinctively to protect his face and neck.

That was when Hannibal snapped the handcuffs around wrists.

Will looked up, shocked, and pulled sharply at the metal. He winced at the cuffs bit into his skin.

“What is this…?” he hissed, voice still ragged from all his shouting.

“A precaution, since you seem intent on destruction. I hope to ensure you do not harm yourself, my dear boy.”

“I am not your dear boy!” Will spat, pulling backwards violently. Without his hand free to balance him, Will collided against the wall with more force than expected, and he narrowed his eyes at Hannibal as if it was his fault.

Hannibal simply smiled at Will’s misguided anger. Surely in time he would see that Hannibal would cherish him like no other could, would spare no expense to see him comfortable and safe.

“I shall return later with our luncheon. I do hope you’ll enjoy it, figs can be so variable out of season.”

***

The figs, drizzled in thickened balsamic vinegar, and served with parmesan shavings and fresh rocket, went uneaten.

Will had been quick, and had taken advantage that Hannibal’s hands were occupied holding the tray, and sprung up round the back of him, pulling the metal chain of the handcuffs tight against his neck.

Genuinely taken aback by Will’s violent intent, Hannibal had been slower than he would have liked in kicking backwards with his heel into Will’s shin, at the same time arching his back and throwing his head backwards into Will’s face.

The crack of nose cartilage had been heart-breaking.

He untangled himself from Will’s murderous embrace (and how bitter it felt to have them come together in such a manner, when the thought of Will’s coming willingly to him had been all he could think on for many a night), breathing heavily, as Will clutched at his bleeding nose.

His wrists too, were ripped and raw from the cuffs, and the tang of blood hung in the air.

Hannibal quickly went from the room, locking the door behind him, and tried to steady himself. Seeing Will so damaged had been alarming, and he felt like he had failed to keep him safe.

Drastic measures were called for.

***

Will’s shirt-front and hands were stained rust-brown with dried blood from his swollen nose, and he curled in the corner of the room.

It had taken more time than he would have liked to return; Crawford had made unexpected arrival at his doorstep, and Hannibal had been forced to invite the detective in.

Crawford was concerned. Will had gone missing, and no-one could locate him.

Hannibal offered his insight, that Will had appeared very distressed after the latest case, the missing head particularly gruesome, even compared with the past murders. He mentioned he had suggested a fishing trip might be of benefit, but it was unlike Will to leave so suddenly without letting Jack know. He slipped in that Will thought highly of Jack, and managed to curtail the impulse to sigh as Crawford preened under the praise.

Hannibal apologised twice, firstly that he could not be of more assistance, and secondly that he had already had lunch, and had nothing to offer DI Crawford. Jack, the greedy glutton, was clearly disappointed.

He bade Jack inform him if he heard word, for this was most worrisome. He ought to have won medals for the sincerity conjured in his voice, and he was certain that as Jack left, he was not at all held accountable for Will’s sudden disappearance.

Of course, there was no evidence that would connect the two. Will’s car had been towed and deposited across the state line, in the territories of a particularly dedicated family of scrappers whose past convictions meant they shied away from any police involvement. The car would be in pieces already he though, and half sold off.

His phone, though probably not traceable due to its age, had still been driven back and placed by Will’s bedside, the door unforced and the bed appearing slept in. Hannibal was particularly pleased with the addition of a nearly empty bottle of cheap scotch upon the counter-side, with a less-than-clean glass tumbler beside it (complete with Will’s finger prints), that would cast doubt upon Will’s supposed state of mind.

Not that Will’s current mindset was much of an improvement upon the fabrication. He was wide eyed, and wary, and glared at Hannibal as he entered the room. He hung his head at a tilt, clearly exhausted, and he had been worrying at the cuffs, his skin broken in vivid rings round his wrists.

Hannibal walked forwards leaving the door open, and then, as he had expected, Will kicked out with his free leg at him. This time he was ready, and sidestepped neatly out of range, catching the ankle in in a sure grip and pulling the sedative out with his other hand. The needle slipped easily into the muscle of Will’s calf, and very soon, Will’s struggles weakened.

“Be calm. This is only that I can dress your wounds, and get you cleaned up. Surely you would appreciate a nice hot bath, and a fresh set of clothes.”

“Naw… naw, naw, naw….” Will slurred, his tongue thick and clumsy in his mouth. His breathing was heavy, affected by his nose, and the sound he produced was coarse. He twisted, but his limbs were uncoordinated, and Hannibal easily scooped him up, carrying him out the room.

The bathroom was located up the stairs, the plumbing too complicated to attempt to run into the basement.

The bath was ready run, the steam gently curling upwards from the warm waters. A first aid kit, with bandages cut to size lay upon a small table he’d brought through. Towels upon the tile would shield Will from the chill of the marble stone, and it was upon this soft surface he carefully deposited the consultant.

Loose-limbed, but still trying to shake his head and refuse Hannibal’s care, Will watched with wide eyes, as Hannibal unlocked the cuffs. To prevent Will making any unwise efforts at escape, Hannibal curled round him on the floor, holding him tightly in his lap.

“This might sting a little, I apologise.” He said softly, using antiseptic wipes to cleanse the skin. If Will could feel the harsh chemical nip through the sedative’s influence, he made no mention of it. His body twitched and shuddered, but Hannibal felt this was continued attempt to overcome the sedative rather than reaction to the gentle treatment of his wrists.

Once his wrists were in a state to be bathed, Hannibal reached for Will’s blood encrusted shirt buttons. He managed the first without fuss, but by the second Will had gathered what was happening, and had jerked suddenly in his lap, his call of ‘no’ through slurred tongue resuming with rapid repetition.

“Be still. You can hardly bathe still dressed. It is high time we got rid of this ghastly shirt at any rate.”

It was surprisingly difficult to relieve Will of his shirt, his limbs heavy and uncooperative, and the material itself sticking to skin through days of wear. Stale sweat assaulted his nose. However, the sight of Will’s body motivated Hannibal to continue, especially as Will fell against his own chest when his strength gave out, his words barely more than a whisper.

He would have stayed there, curled protectively round his charge, but the sedative had been selected for its minimal long term effects, and he could not count on Will’s current compliance.

The trousers and underclothes were equally troublesome to remove, and even more odorous. He had to turn his head, as he pulled trousers and socks off. Rather than suffer the lingering smell, he bundled the clothes and left them outside the bathroom, shutting the door on the filthy garments only fit to be burned.

Will, without Hannibal to support him, had been dragged by gravity to the floor, and he lay as if sleeping, were it not for his mouth still trying to protest, and his eyes, lids drooping but the pupils nervously trying to focus.

His repose was not graceful, he looked more like a discarded ragdoll, but still Hannibal was struck by the sight. There was something wholly satisfying in seeing Will so open, laid bare for him to appreciate…. and touch.

He ran a hand over exposed hip, fingertips skirted over skin, sallow in some places, aggravated and red from too long in the same shirt in others. He’d lost weight, and his bones were much too visible.

He should have acted much sooner.

He was admiring the visage of his long fingers against Will’s chest, when he realised that Will was quickly becoming cold.

Mindful of his head that lolled dangerously, Hannibal gathered Will to him, and after first testing the waters to ensure they would not be uncomfortably warm, he lowered will into the bath.

The heat seemed to revive Will’s determination to make this difficult, and he thrashed in the water.

Hannibal held him, one arm draped round shoulders to keep his head supported and above the water level, allowing Will to waste his energy, thinking it might make the following task simpler if Will no longer fought him at every juncture. Surely he could see that this was for his own good, that his skin needed cleansed, that such squalor was beneath him.

“Hush my dear; let me look after you… Let me show you how much I care…”

Will, unconvinced, did not still.

“Ah, perhaps you think the bath unscented and plain. I would have used oils, I have a particularly pleasant pepper blend, but I feared it would aggravate your injured wrists. See, I have here a mild soap, that should not interfere with healing, and rather than a harsh loofa, I shall use my hands to clean the dirt from your skin. See? I have taken everything into consideration, you do not have to worry. I will see to everything you need.”

Far from grateful, Will, unable to speak, screwed up his bloodied face, and tried to spit at Hannibal’s face. Flecks landed upon his cheek, but the majority of the saliva failed to launch from Will’s lips, and dribbled down his chin.

“I will assume the sedative had dimmed your sense, and forgive your appealing manners… this time.” Hannibal could hear in the echoing bathroom that his voice was hard, and Will had the decency to look fearful in response, and stop further attempts to interfere.

Unimpeded, Hannibal could apply soap in careful swipes across his body, lifting the sweat and dirt from skin, the water quickly becoming discoloured. Hannibal lamented that he probably did not have time to run a second bath, that Will could enjoy the benefits of a proper soak, and so he endeavoured to cover every inch of Will’s body, and make the best of what time he did have available.

Hannibal liked to think that it was his gentle administrations that caused Will to finally relax, and not the lull of the warm waters, or the sedative finally taking full effect. Will slumped against Hannibal’s arm, the last of his tensions slipping way. It was most endearing.

He took advantage of Will’s state to carefully test the nose, as slow and soft as he was able, feeling for the break and its placement, and making sure there were no loose shards of cartilage that would cause problems later on. It seemed like a small fracture across the bridge, and was already held in correct alignment. Under all the blood and bruising, it looked like it would heal neatly.

Rather than try to clean Will’s nose, which would be tender, Hannibal brought a cupped hand to repeatedly let water run down Will’s face, tipping his head in the crook of his elbow that he would be able to breathe.

The blood from his nose, which seemed it would heal without complication, gradually was cleared from his face, leaving only the odd stubborn flakes in his beard. A little soap, and then more cupped water soon brought Will back to looking less like a savage, and more like a man.

His eyes though, remained wild.

All that was left to attend to was between Wills legs, and Hannibal had to shift forwards that he would be able to reach. He brought his head closer to Will’s ear, and he could not help speaking reassurances to him, sediment overcoming his usually carefully measured words and causing him to ramble like some love-struck fool. Such was the power Will Graham had over him.

“I am sorry for scaring you, I could never hurt you, you know that surely? And doesn’t it feel so much better to be clean, you’ll thank me when the sedative wear off. You really are very attractive, I do not think that you realise. Very beautiful, dear Will, truly lovely.”

Throughout, he carefully cleaned genitals, pushing limp legs apart that he could work. Will made a soft noise, and Hannibal stilled, his hand gently resting over Will’s flaccid cock.

“You like that?” he asked, hardly believing that Will would be so forward.

Will did not, could not, answer, but a blush coloured his cheeks, in shades of rich Bordeaux.

Hannibal chuckled, and pressed his hand a little firmer. “Ah… do not be embarrassed. It is a perfectly natural response, especially for one who goes to such lengths to avoid contact… though I think that hack Freud would have much else to say on the subject.”

He felt a push against his hand, not even to make him move, but with a show of growing strength that signalled that the sedative was wearing off.

As he pulled Will from the bath, soaking himself in the process, he wondered about increasing the dosage, weighting up possible adverse health effects against having Will so peaceful and pliant.

With a series of fresh towels he dried Will off, basking in the fresh scent of the man, much improved by bathing. He avoided Will’s face, the swelling of his nose prominent.

Will started to pull away, but Hannibal held first one hand, then the other, applying antiseptic and wrapping the wrists in neat bandages to allow healing. He had just finished, when Will flailed to the side, knocking his arm in the process and wincing as pain shot up his arm.

“I had hoped it would not come to this, but you seem most intent upon harming yourself….”

Hannibal stood, and pulled down a thick white jacket, a multitude of buckles clanking together like solemn bells.

Will froze, colour draining from his face.

“No!” he shouted, tongue finally obeying his commands, and he tried to scramble backwards.

As Hannibal began to arrange one sleeve ready for wearing, his voice broke, and he looked up at Hannibal, eyes focused and wide. “Please no…”

“You left me no choice Will.”

It was a tiresome struggle to get the straight jacket on, and by the end Hannibal was not only damp from the bathwater, his shirt rumpled from forcing unwilling hands into closed up sleeves, but also sorely tested by Will’s opposition. As the last clasp was secured, Will slumped, defeated and eyes filled with water.

Hannibal knelt by the man, hand over a shoulder, and then leant close as Will Graham started to sob, an ugly sound made more harsh through his broken nose.

“Whatever is the matter? It is done now, there is no need for tears.”

Will only turned his head, refusing to speak.

Fearing that Will’s legs would not support him, Hannibal carried Will back down the stairs, setting him down upon the bed, even though the sheets were torn.

“I doubt I will find any whole pyjama bottoms, so until I can purchase new ones, you will have to go without. Rest now, and I’ll see to tidying up this abysmal mess.”

All that had been destroyed was bundled into bin bags, and through it all, Will lay deathly still upon the bed, not sleeping, but not moving either. At first, Hannibal was grateful for the opportunity to set the room to rights without interruption, but more and more, he began to become concerned over the prone figure on the bed.

Once the worst of the clutter had been cleared, Hannibal came to sit on the edge of the bed.

“Will… Will, talk to me. Tell me what has rendered you so upset.”

“Bastard…” was the only hissed reply, Will not even turning to direct the insult to his face.

Hannibal cocked his head, then touched a finger to his chin thoughtfully.

“Ah, I should have known, given your intense distrust of psychiatric services… You fear being branded mad or insane, and the jacket, it plays upon such paranoia. Your fears are unfounded, I know your mind, unique and unusual yes, but intact. However, your recent behaviour has been destructive and violent. The jacket is purely preventative. Perhaps later, with good behaviour, we can do away with it.”

That earned Will’s attention, and with effort he twisted round to meet Hannibal’s eyes.

It was the first time since coming down to his new basement home that Will had looked upon Hannibal with anything but an expletive on his lips or fury in his eyes. Instead, there was hope, and unspoken promise of compliance, and Hannibal nodded. He would have preferred to shake hands with Will, to formalise the deal properly, but wrapped in the snug confines of the jacket, Will’s hands were unavailable.

As alternative, and to test Will’s resolution to ‘good behaviour’, he stretched out a hand to stroke down Will’s cheek. Will stayed very still, tensed down to the bone and with narrowed eyes, but not making any move to pull away or protest.

Hannibal felt his lips curl in a smile, and caressed against Will’s cheek, triumphant.

“Very good... Shall we see about something to eat then? I do not doubt you could stand a decent meal.”

Will nodded meekly, as if he did not trust he could speak without cursing Hannibal’s existence.

Without giving him chance to change his mind, Hannibal swiftly left, dragging full bin bags behind him. These he would break down into smaller batches so as not to seem at all out of the ordinary, but even having to dispose of thousands of dollars worth of gifts could not dampen his spirits. Will’s new-found obedience was heartening, and Hannibal set to work preparing a late dinner for them both with vigour.

***  
He had erred on the side of simplicity, rather than stress Will’s stomach with rich or overly indulgent foods. Two portions of mushrooms in garlic crème, fried with shallots and pancetta and smoked sea salt, and boiled rice sat upon his tray, with water to wash it down with, and he made his way into the basement bedroom.

Will was sitting up, with a blanket half pulled over him to cover himself. It looked like he had used his teeth to manipulate the material, his hands uselessly held across his chest.

He set the tray down by the bed, and faced Will. He pulled a forkful up, and held it level for Will to eat.

Will’s face furrowed. “You can’t possibly mean to feed me like this…”

“Why not? You have not been looking after yourself when left to your own devices. This way I can make sure you are eating properly.”

Will glared, and leaned away from the fork, setting his jaw and turning his chin away. Patiently, Hannibal allowed Will his flash of insolence, before clicking his tongue against his teeth.

“And here I thought we were making such progress…. You need to eat Will, please do not make me force the food into you.”

His voice held no uncertainty that should Will continue to refuse, Hannibal would take such measures as holding him down and pushing forkfuls into his mouth.

With a fire searing in his eyes, he tipped forwards and took the offered food, chewing slowly, resentfully.

It took time, but soon Will had eaten most of what was on his plate, much to Hannibal’s satisfaction. As he started to tidy the dishes, and the glasses, he turned to smile at Will.

“Much better. Did you enjoy the meal?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh, that is a pity. What would you like then? I would be happy to cater to your tastes.”

“The food is not the issue Hannibal!”

Hannibal set down the fork with a clink, “While I am pleased that my cooking is not at fault, I feel you do not appreciate that here you will be safe, and looked after.”

“I am capable of looking after myself!”

“Really?” Hannibal raised a brow, “Then tell me why you wore yourself ragged chasing all manner of murderers, till your sleep and health suffered? Why you let your co-called colleagues drag you time and time again to crime scenes when it was clear the detrimental effect it had upon your mind? You were under such pressures, and it was only a matter of time before you cracked under the strain. I saved you Will. Can you not see that?”

Will made a dismissive noise.

Hannibal sighed sadly. He turned to go, and leave Will in peace.

“You can use the intercom if you require anything, anything at all. I shall be upstairs.”

Over the next few days, Hannibal attended to Will’s every need. He sat and read to him, to stave off boredom. He cooked wonderful meals, drawing on past recollections of what Will liked to eat. He remade the bed, with fresh sheets and plentiful pillows. The ambient temperature was kept high, that Will did not get cold, dressed as he was in pyjama bottoms and the straight jacket. The full length mirror in the room was removed, after Hannibal realised that the sight of the straightjackets was a source of discomfort for the empath, sparking too many fears and phobias. He even began to knock before entering Will’s room, as sign of respect.

Washing and the trimming of his beard and redressing still had to be done under sedation, Will refusing to accept the straightjacket, even when a fresh one was presented to him. Hannibal took the opportunity presented by Will’s slumped body to massage aching shoulders, and carefully cleanse skin. More often than not, the water ran cold before he had finished to his satisfaction.

He had decided that human contact would be beneficial to the man, who had taken great lengths to distance himself from others. In the privacy of his mind, Hannibal came to acknowledge that he quite liked the thought of Will so untouched, as if he had been waiting for him and him alone.

It took a great deal of percussion for Will to accept the notion, and more still for him to comply. Only when it became clear that Hannibal would not concede, and that he saw this as part of the ‘good behaviour’ agreement and that to refuse would be to prolong his time in the dreaded straightjacket, did Will sigh and join him upon the bed, walking like a man to his death.

Hannibal began to come and rest in the same bed, pulling Will close as he luxuriated in the soft fabrics and warmth. Sometimes he would curl round Will’s back, an arm wrapped possessively around his wrapped frame. Other times, he’d lay on his back, with an arm outstretched to serve as a pillow for Will’s head. The buckles of the jacket were uncomfortable, but being so close to his prized companion more than made up for the tiny indents of metal he found upon his skin afterwards.

He enjoyed drifting off, the scent of Will’s hair surrounding him, the warmth of their bodies like an aura.

He had to restrict himself from sleeping in Will’s bed too often, as Will never allowed himself to sleep, and Hannibal did not want to deprive him of his rest.

Yet, throughout, Will remained stubbornly ungrateful, and though he did not make any move to deny Hannibal his wishes, neither did he ever relax, nor lose the bunched tension to his shoulders.

He clung, desperately, to some foolish notion of escape, of going back to a world that branded him freakish. Even when Hannibal gave him his all, he would reject it in a heartbeat in favour of returning to his previously unhappy life.

He started to think of how he could show Will the folly of wanting to leave, and show him that staying was the only possible option for their future.

He still had many pieces of wood, ripped from bedside tables and covered in fingerprints, as well as Will’s bloodied and stinking clothes. Under cover of night, he found a young lady walking a dog, and set about bludgeoning her to death with the table leg, wearing gloves to preserve Will’s fingerprints. He displayed the body across the road, splayed out like a frog under dissection, and then drove to dump the bundled clothes along with the table-leg in a bin just a little way off the road, as if someone was attempting to dispose of evidence.

The dog he took to Will’s home, where it joined the rest of Will’s strays, and then waited for Baltimore’s finest to discover her death.

Sure enough, wrongful conclusions were drawn, and the more that the matter was investigated, the more keen the police were to find and ‘speak with’ Will Graham.

He was prepared, with recorder secreted in his jacket pocket, when Jack Crawford came to his door, and warned him that Will was wanted for questioning, and was considered to be highly dangerous.

At first, Will did not believe the playback, but as he heard the genuine grief in Jack’s voice as he voiced his suspicions that Will could be the Chesapeake Ripper, his disbelief turned to anger.

“All this, just so that even I did manages to escape, I’d have no-where to go!? Low, even for you, you psychopathic monster!”

Will was on his feet, the straightjacket hobbling his arms but his legs free.

“Let me out. I won’t stay here another minute!”

Hannibal, setting down the recorder, crossed his arms.

“If you leave, you will be hunted down as a serial killer.”

“Rather that than be trapped here with one!”

Hannibal breathed deep, narrowed his eyes.

“Is that how you see me? After all I have done for you? I have kept you safe, and warm, and well fed. I have seen to your every need….” His voice softened, and took on a pleading tone that seemed foreign to his ears, “I have caused you no harm….Please, I do not want you to think of me as a monster…”

He reached out, hoping to stroke against Will’s cheek, to gentle away such cruel words. Will took a step back. He flexed against the straightjacket.

“This hurts me Hannibal... I feel helpless, and trapped, and I keep seeing shadows and shapes in the corner of my eye, and its getting harder and harder to focus on what’s real. I… I can’t take it much longer…. I think I actually am going mad. Hannibal, you have to let me go…”

“If you fear madness, then who better than myself to see you through? I am a psychiatrist after all.”

Will’s head fell forward, his hair covering his face, as he gave how a husky laugh that sounded like something breaking inside. “…you don’t see….”

Shifting to his feet, Hannibal made to put a hand against Will’s shoulder. At the touch, Will jerked back, as such speed he crashed against the wall, knocking the breathe from him.

“Careful now... don’t hurt yourself…”

Will glared, his eyes wild. He set his teeth into a grimace, and then very deliberately, threw himself again at the wall, with enough force Hannibal could feel the impact through the floorboards.

“Will! Stop!” Hannibal was alarmed at Will self-destructive behaviour, and leap forwards to wrap his arms around him and keep him from the bruises and possible concussion his behaviour might merit.

It was like trying to hold onto a storm. Will tossed and turned, and swung wildly about, his teeth gnashing at the air and frightfully near to Hannibal’s face. He kicked his legs against the floor, Hannibal and the wall, and despite his bound arms, he have a strength Hannibal had difficulty containing.

After a particularly fierce jab at Hannibal’s inner thigh with a heel, Hannibal let go, and Will, mid-twist, fell backwards. Without his hands to steady him, he fell to land on his back, curling defensively on his side, panting heavily.

Hannibal pulled from his pockets an emergency supply of the sedative, capped and near impossible for Will to use against him without the use of his hands. Will yelped as the needle pierced the flesh of his shoulder, and turned to scowl at him, even as his eyes turned hazy.

****

Hannibal had a glass of ice water ready for when Will woke, with a straw to make it easier for him to drink. He lay side by side, watching Will breathe, the slow steady pulse hypnotic.

Predictably, the first thing Will tried to do upon gaining consciousness, was move away from Hannibal. Of course, this had, during the course of his unscheduled sleep, been made much more challenging.

He struggled to pull himself up to see, and Hannibal lent a hand to his back to support him as he sat up. The cuffs across both ankles, with enough give to it the chain roped round the underside of the bed that he could make himself comfortable, were not well received.

“Fuck…” Said Will.

Hannibal, merely made a small sound of contemplation, as his hand lowered down from back to the curve of Will’s ass, imagining the intimacies the two would share.

Will’s shoulders bunched at the nape of his neck, and he shuddered, though Hannibal knew there to be no chill to the room.

“Calm yourself. Come lay with me…”

Twisting, Will turned to look Hannibal in the eye, his eyes locked. “I don’t have a choice… do I?”

“It’s for your own good. You need your rest.”

Will closed his eyes, and gave a slight nod of his head. he lay down, and allowed Hannibal to wrap him in his arms, holding him close.

When Will finally stilled, and slumped, tension dissipating like the fading light of dusk, Hannibal knew he had won. He stroked Will’s cheek tenderly, revelling in the fact the other man did not flinch or try to move away. His skin was warm, and soft, and glorious.

The one downside to Will’s acquiesce at last, was that Hannibal felt that he would rather miss the straightjacket, and the way it rendered Will completely dependent upon him. The days that had followed the introduction of the ankle cuffs had been as close to perfect as he dared imagine.

Perhaps he would keep Will constrained. After all, it seemed to have benefit effect on Will’s manner and mind. He did not swear anymore, nor shout or scream, and seemed much more settled. He was polite, and said please and thank you appropriately. He ate, and was grateful for the fare that Hannibal lovingly prepared for him. Hannibal spent every night with him, watching over him as he slept.

Gone were the nightmares of blood and gore, replaced instead with emergent yearnings from his subconscious.

Hannibal could not contain his delight, on waking to find Will at his side in the throes of an impassioned dream, heart pounding, trembling with desire, and then, finally, calling out in a voice near breathless; “Hannibal!”

The End


End file.
